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For my last, and recent, birthday– among other small wonders– my mother sent me a beautiful bone-white and still-beaked bird skull, fragile and still. A week or so later,  a package appeared from the Netherlands; it was a gift from my father’s sculptor-sister, Els, who’d been inspired to carve for me–unbidden and unknowing–the same strange item from stone.

Yesterday, M and I met a few new friends at the First Thursdays Art Walk in Pioneer Square. We were met, at the second gallery, by the bronze work above.

I was entranced, though I know not why. And I am listening, although to what I am unsure.

5 Comments Post a comment
  1. Meaningful coincidences… I’ve experienced something akin to what you are describing. Magical and mysterious, indeed.

    December 4, 2010
  2. #

    The ancient Egyptian word “khu” was the intelligent portion of the soul and was symbolized by a crested bird. Ancients in South America pictured souls in Paradise as birds. The Slavs believed that the soul, after death, flew from the mouth in the form of a dove. They called the Milky Way “the street of the birds,” where the souls of the dead fluttered along it in the shapes of birds.

    Is the Universe speaking to your soul?

    December 5, 2010
  3. Lahn: I think that is what I cherish, or have been aching for–that is, that sense of strange whispering from something-beyond-the-pale. And I am curious about your experiences, too, but understand that these things sometimes are shy to be talking about. In any case, thank you.

    Lil: I am not sure, but your comment, or wondering, made me feel so deeply heard. Something about skulls and birds, souls and something beyond… no matter the message, or meaning, it feels lovely to contemplate.

    December 6, 2010
  4. Amazing, wonderful and meaningful. Not unlike my “Ka” and “Snow” dream recently. These things are like letters from another dimension, written in a language we know that we know but have somehow forgotten. It’s like those “it’s on the tip of my tongue” instances, where a word is stored in memory but eludes us.

    December 19, 2010
  5. Natalie: Oh, that’s an extraordinarily beautiful way to put it. Yes, exactly.

    What I love about dreams are their near-endless possibility for interpretation, and how they emerge as something like an unauthored poem, or painting. We ourselves might be their creators, but their meaning is opaque, or unknown, even to ourselves. Something in me delights at this.

    December 21, 2010

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